


Ophidiophilia

by HostisHumaniGeneris



Category: Original Work
Genre: Crack, Drunk Sex, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Non-Human Genitalia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Snakes, Swords & Sorcery, Tentacles, Xenophilia, gorgons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-12 01:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18435794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/pseuds/HostisHumaniGeneris
Summary: Zamenia the Sculptor wasn't quite surewhya barbarian kicked down her door.  Yes, she was Gorgon, but those statues out front werejust statues, she couldn't turn people to stone.  Fortunately, she manages to convince her attacker that she is not the problem.  Unfortunately, later the warrior woman shows up again.  Fortunately, it's to make amends.





	Ophidiophilia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [initialism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/initialism/gifts).



Zamenia fell on her ass and began to crawl backwards when her door was kicked off it’s hinges.  Her heart was pounding as heavy footfalls met the stone floor, and a woman in leather armor loomed tall above her, bandage wrapped around her eyes, greatsword over her shoulder.

Somehow a blind bandit had just kicked in her door.  Oh no. 

She looked at her worktable, at the hammer and chisel.  Then back at the woman a head taller than her, far more muscular, and _carrying a fucking greatsword_. 

She found herself staring at the hilt of that sword, at two red jewels embedded in the pommel glittering like eyes.  A raspy guttural seemed to emanate from it.  “Okay, five feet ahead of you, on the ground.”

“AHA!”  The bandit yelled, retrieving something from a satchel at her hip and thrusting it forward.  Zamenia screamed and flinched, slamming her eyes shut.  There was no pain.

She cringed in the dark and silence until she heard a confused hissing.

She sheepishly forced an eye open, catching a view of a face the color of malachite, with tiny tusks, wide, fear-filled amber eyes, and a halo of writhing, green-and-black serpents.  Her own reflection.  The bandit held a small mirror in her hand, pointing it right at Zamenia.  After too long a pause, a gruff voice demanded asked.  “So, job done yet?”

“She had her eyes closed.” The sword replied.  “Y’know just take a few steps and swing and it won’t matter--wait, no she’s looking.”

“Well, let me know when it’s done.” The barbarian said impatiently. 

“Wha-what are you doing?” Zamenia burst out, before covering her mouth as the barbarian tensed when she yelled.  Her serpents hissed and snapped.  Unfortunately they weren’t even venomous. 

“Showing you your reflection.  Turnin’ ya to stone.”  The bandit said.  “Nothin’ personal, just business.”

“It’s not working.” The sword said.

“I figured, given she’s askin’ questions.”  The bandit said, annoyed.  Directed at Zamenia, she asked.  “Shouldn’t seeing your reflection turn you to stone?”

“What?!” Zamenia shrieked.

“You’re a gorgon.” The sword said.

“She isn’t a rock.  Great.”  The black-haired barbarian placed the mirror in her satchel.  “Plan B, then.  Okay, on the floor, you said, right?  Think she can dodge?”

“Wait, what?”  Zamenia yelped, scrambling backwards as the sword helpfully clued in its owner to that fact.  “Just because I’m a Gorgon you think I turn people to stone?”

“That’s what the townsfolk said.” The barbarian said.

“I don’t!” Zamenia shouted back, cutting her off.  “Get the fuck out of my house!”

There was a long pause.

“Well what’re those then?” The intruder turned, gesturing to the door.  And the yardful of statues.  Then, as an aside she said, presumably to her sword “Were you just lying to fuck with me?”

“I was tempted, but no.  She does have a bunch of petrified people in front of the cave.” 

There was a long pause. 

“I’m a _sculptor_.”  Zamenia yelled, gesturing at the table full of tools, and a half-carved marble raccoon.   She was sick of _everyone_ just assuming Gorgons turned people to stone. That was literally _one_ Gorgon. One. Cursed by a _goddess_ because the gods were awful.  Bolting to her feet, she grabbed a replica castle she had chipped out of limestone and held it up.  “See?  Hell, there’s a sign out front saying ‘Zamenia Longissima, Stoneworks’ out front.”

It took Zamenia a little too long to realize she was holding up a sculpture in front of an adventuress who hadn’t removed her blindfold. 

From over the Barbarian’s shoulder, the sword said.  “Yeah, she does have some tools on that table over there. ”

“Over where?” the barbarian half-turned, and Zamenia took a step back as when she turned, _the sword_ turned with her. 

“…And there was a sign out front.” The sword added.

“What did it say?”

“I was trying to make sure _you_ didn’t blunder down a chasm, I didn’t read it!” The sword snapped back.

“Well was the mouth of the cave surrounded by the frozen victims of her depredations, such that you could make out the terror in their faces?”  The barbarian asked.

“…well, yeah.”  After a long pause, the sword helpfully added “She is on her feet.  Convenient decapitation height.”

“They’re statues!  Carved from stone, not people turned to stone!” Zamenia yelled angrily.  She was stressed and was working through some things—like the fact her neighbors thought she turned people to stone and chased her out of their village when she tried to sell her wares.  The barbarian wheeled around to face her.  The reason why she had carved them all, then dragged them out of her cave was because they were incredibly realistic and creepy looking, and _oh the gods_ Zamenia just realized how _bad_ things looked.  Meekly, she added “I was in a dark place when I did those.”

The Barbarian sightlessly appraised her, hand on hip, took in a deep breath, and shrugged. 

“Look, I know it looks bad.  But I don’t turn people to stone.  Like, the villagers don’t like me, but I swear I don’t.”

“Then why’d they hire me to kill you?”  The barbarian asked.  “I mean, they seem pretty convinced some monster was coming down from the hills and turning the city’s guards to stone—and unless you were leaving statues in the guard posts…”

“Maybe they were talking about the basilisk?”

“Basilisk?” The warrior asked incredulously. 

“Yeah, the scary monster on the other side of the hill.” Zamenia offered.  She really wanted this lady out of her cave so she could get the door fixed up, because did she want the door when she thought of the basilisk.

“You’re upset at people thinking you turn people to stone, when you live on a mountain with a monster _that turns people to stone and decorate your front yard with terrifying statues._ ” The sword asked.

There was a long pause, but the barbarian’s shoulders went slack.

“Whatever, we’re gonna get paid.  If it’s a false lead we can always come back.”  The barbarian said, turning to exit.  After some course-correcting advice from her sword, she stepped out of the cave.  Zamenia curiously approached the door as the adventurer left, ducking out of sight when the woman turned around and yelled “Sorry about your door.”

“Hey, the sign does say she’s a sculptor!” The sword added.

* * *

The rest of the night was uneventful, but Zamenia was so shaken by her brush with death that she couldn’t force herself to finish the raccoon.  She occupied her time by fixing the door, and was woken by a banging on her door causing it to rattle on it’s new hinges.  A familiar voice slurred on the other side.  “Aye, statue-girl, open up!”

“I told you, I don’t…”

“Eh, whatever, don’ wanna break yer door down to pay-ya back for… yer door...” The woman replied.  Then, after a pause, Zamenia heard “Huh… ‘at statue’s ann… anna-tom… ‘at statue’s gotta dick!”

“Most of them do.  Including some of the women,” The sword sounded less ominous than before, and more _tired_.  The barbarian laughed and said ‘they do’ while the sword added.  “My owner’s serious about the reparations, by the way.”

Zamenia unbolted the door, which promptly flew open.  The barbarian smelled of booze and fire, with a wide grin plastered on her face.  A pair of green eyes met Zamenia’s.  “You-er right ‘bout that lizard thing, and I got paid, an’ now I think I should… gib ya something for yer trouble.”

“My owner slayed the basilisk, turned its pelt in for the reward, proceeded to use the reward to drink heavily, and now feels the need to remunerate you for the damage done to your door.” The sword helpfully translated.

“Oh, that’s fine.” Zamenia said, wondering about why she even opened the door.  Oh yes, because the woman proved quite capable of kicking it down if she hadn’t.

“Callit a finder’s fee or somethin’.” The barbarian took a few steps in, taking a swig out of a wineskin, which she promptly offered to Zamenia.  “I insist.”

“Drinking.  Heavily.” The sword repeated.  “Even by her standards.  Which is the only reason she’s offering you anything.”

“Whadderyou grinnin’ about?” The barbarian said, looking at Zamenia.  Zamenia was confused, because the warrior was seemingly grinning about nothing, too.

“I just didn’t picture a sword-wielding mercenary to be a friendly drunk.” Zamenia said.  She’d never actually gotten drunk before.  Usually when she went to town people would flee the tavern.  But some monster-hunter who kicked down doors didn’t strike her as amiable.  “I would’ve thought you’d get into a bar room brawl or something.”

“She did.” The sword sighed.

“Those villagers are pathetic.” The warrior confirmed.  “Did-int even break a sweat.  No wonder ‘ey couldn’t killat lizard…. I didn’t gib you the wine to hold, girl.”

With her free hand, she gestured at the wineskin in Zamenia’s hand and looked on expectantly. Shrugging, she took a sip.  Which became a swig.  Which became the rest of the wineskin.  It warmed her considerably.  The mercenary laughed and clapped a hand on her shoulder.  A few serpents hissed in warning.  “So… no-ard feelin’s ‘bout the door, right?”

“Yeah.  It’s fine.” Zamenia said.  Okay, the woman was boorish, drunk to the point of barely being understandable, and had almost killed her earlier that day, _but_ this was the most positive interaction she’d had since moving to these mountains.  She’d been warned about how unfriendly the locals would be, but there were so many materials here to pursue sculpture. Cost her a lot to get set up here, and because she couldn't sell anything without townsfolk screaming... she couldn't leave. 

“See… tol’ ya.” The barbarian said over her shoulder, to her sword.  That was approximately when the barbarian grew tired of carrying it and unceremoniously dropped it to the ground with a clatter.  “Water undertha bridge.”

“You drunken fool!” The sword loudly complained.

 “Huh… if yer too proud to accept my charity…” The barbarian said, fishing out a handful of gold coins.  Zamenia wasn’t, but wasn’t about to argue over that.  “I wanna buy somethin’.  Wasn’t she working onna woodchuck er somethin’?”

“Raccoon, you daft bint!” The sword yelled. 

“Whatever.  Now where izzit?”  The drunken barbarian began wandering the cave, completely overlooking the half-finished raccoon.  Zamenia tried to warn her away, tried to get her to stop, because some of those pieces were _fragile_.  But miraculously, a drunken barbarian rifling around her shop caused no damage, except for ripping down that curtain.

The curtain in front of her shelf. 

Her private shelf.

Zamenia froze as the barbarian leaned in close, studying the various stone _appliances_ that she had made over the course of many, many lonely nights.

“Um… I can explain.” Zamenia said, trying to think of something, _anything_ to say to a drunken barbarian perusing her shelf full of hand-carved dildoes. 

“Hm… centaur, pegasus, hippocamp…” Okay… so the warrior was well acquainted with monster anatomy, able to spot the small differences between various equine creatures.   Gripping a small… small- _ish_ one and hefting it, she asked. “Whut iz this one?”

“Orc.”

“Ah, that’s the issue.” The sword said.  “She’s only familiar with female orc anatomy.”

“Fuck off.”  Came the good-natured reply from the barbarian.  The tipsy grin that the warrior had on her face since barging in the cave disappeared when she leaned in to a smooth shaft with a prominent bulging toward the base.  “…uhg.  Fuckin’ Cerberus?”

“Well, it’s meant to be any large canine but…”   

She was cut off by a gasp from the barbarian, who picked up on the size champ of Zamenia’s collection. “… Izzat a dragon?  They ‘ave two, ya know... should make another.  But itsh a draa~aagon.”

“…now you’ve got her going on about dragons.” The sword sighed.

“Um… you’re _knowledgeable_.”  Zamenia said, watching her… ‘guest’ pump her hand up and down the ridged and curved cock.  Maybe it was the wine talking, but it was nice to see that _someone_ was able to appreciate her collection with enthusiasm.  Maybe more than nice.  Something twisted between her legs.

“How much izzit?” The barbarian said, coins jingling as she patted down her satchel.  Without waiting for an answer, she slammed down a handful of gold on the table.  “That should cover it.”

More than cover it, had Zamenia been selling it.  Which she guessed she was, because when a drunken barbarian burst into your home to buy sex toys, what else were you supposed to do?  “Um… thanks…”

“Mind if I try it out?” The warrior slurred, looking at her gently used prize.  Without waiting for an answer, she kicked off her boots, stumbling against the wall as she did so.  She rested the toy on the ground as she removed her breeches, kicking her way out of them with difficulty.

While the barbarian was preoccupied, Zamenia crept to her sword.  “Is this… normal?”

“She got paid _well_.  She bought _a lot_ of alcohol.  So yeah.”  The sword said while the barbarian wrestled her top off.  “She hasn’t caused a revolution or had to flee the city yet, so she’s behaving herself right now… she’ll tire herself out soon enough and you can kick her out when she wakes… wait, are you staring?”

“Um…” Zamenia started, trailing off as she observed her guest.  The woman was… statuesque.  Powerfully built, scars that told she had been at this for a long time along her arms and ribs. A trio ran down one side of her face. She had a few fresh bruises and scrapes she assumed were from the basilisk.  Her eyes were drawn to the patch of fur at the barbarian’s crotch.  And from there… “…I never managed to get all the way down to the base on that one.” 

“Things are going to get weird.  Weird _er_.  Aren’t they?” The sword sighed.   

Things squirmed as she watched the woman impale herself on the cock, stretched wide and groaning.  Oh damn.  Zamenia gripped the front of her dress and felt things _shift_ as she watched.  It wasn’t just the wine warming her now.  She had a great memory, and she was definitely going to be enshrining this in stone.

“Excellent craftsmanship!” The barbarian yelled, head thrown back, spine arched as she plunged down on the stone.  Zamia nodded; picking just the right stone to feel great, all the little detail work—private as it was she admired someone else appreciating her work.  The barbarian was breathing hard, grinning gormlessly, and then turned to look at Zamenia.  And her grin widened, eyes locked on to Zamenia’s hands, cover her crotch.  “Like what you see?”

“Um…”

“C’mere.”  The warrior beckoned.  Zamenia froze, then took a few steps forward, feeling something twist inside.  She knew where this was going, and it was not going to end well.  Admittedly, it would get the intruder out of her cave, but she’d actually grown a little fond of the psychotic drunkard—a reaction other than screaming and throwing rocks was wonderful.  “…Think you’re havin’ fun.  Why dontcha get rid of the dress?”

“It’s a robe…” Zamenia said, looking down at the woman, still straddling the massive stone cock. 

“Yer robe, then.” The barbarian giggled, and a strong hand grabbed one of Zamenia’s.  She ran her thumb against Zamenia’s hand.  “C’mon, it’ll be fun.  Gotta be lonely out here.”

‘Lonely’ was the word.  It _was_ so lonely.  And indulging the warrior would only make things lonelier, but the way she looked up, looking like she was game for anything—and Zamenia caved.  She took a half-step back, freeing her hand.  Sheepishly, Zamenia shrugged her robe off her shoulders, taking great care to keep herself covered.  The woman obviously wasn’t put off by the scales or eyes, or even the snakes for hair, but… there was a reason that the only things Zamenia had betwixt her legs since leaving her homeland were made of stone.

“Like yer tits lass, but C’mon, we can’t do this if yer...”  The warrior said, hands shooting out and prying Zamenia’s away from her crotch, and then the woman’s eyes widened.  This was so goddamn unfair—everyone here found her horrifying, and the few who didn’t, who she tried to get close to, would break when they found out just a little bit more.  Zamenia tried to free herself, as the warrior appraised the slithering, thin serpents exposed at eye level.   She stood up, towering over Zamenia, who felt smaller than usual.  The barbarian would run off screaming and…

Zamenia was not prepared for the barbarian laughing heartily, and planting on hand on her head.  Snakes grumpily hissed, although a few appreciated the attention.  “Shoulda known it’d match.”

“You’re not… Most people…” Zamenia started. Wait... _why didn't anyone figure she'd match_? Humans had fur on their heads and at their privates, why shouldn't she have snakes? "You're the first human who hasn't run away screaming."

“Trust me, we’ve seen some really out their stuff.” The sword said wearily.  “Do me a favor and pitch me out into your yard?”

The sword was ignored as the Barbarian guided Zamenia to the ground.  Studying her carefully.  The snakes at her crotch were thinner than those on her head, and like the rocks, were useful on a lonely night, but it was weird having someone take an interest.  Zamenia had grown up with them; all the gorgons she knew did—they weren’t novel.  And everyone else who was unprepared was not interested so much as terrified.  “Ese ain’t poisonous, are they?”

“Venomous.” Zamenia said.  “And no, they are not.”

“Bitey?”

“Not normally.”

That was all the barbarian need to lie down, interleave her legs with Zamenia’s and pull in close.  A few black tongues flicked, and the barbarian giggled.  “Tickles.”

Then she pressed her hips against Zamenia’s and began to grind.  This was confusing, but Zamenia did have some experience with those snakes getting _curious_ and investigating—it did indeed tickle.  Snakes found a new hole to hide in and began exploring, curiously examining the inside of their new friend.

The barbarian was quite appreciative.  Her movements quickly became more erratic, while Zamenia began her own grinding, spurred on by the warrior’s moans and groans.  Breathing came more and more heavily to the barbarian, with the serpents taking great care to prod at areas specifically to get a reaction.  There was something incredibly satisfying about making this woman writhe.

The warrior came immodestly and collapsed, and an idea crossed Zamenia’s mind.  While the warrior came down, the snakes began to curl together, twist.  It wouldn’t get _her_ off, but Zamenia wanted to hear some more cries from the warrior.  When the woman’s eyes locked and the serpents, a writhing flexible masse stretching erect, she grinned and spread her legs.

“Roll over, all fours.” Zamenia said as authoritatively as she could.  The confused pause worried her slightly, like the barbarian was just going to tackle her and clamber atop her.  That would be nice, but Zamenia was happier when the warrior followed her orders.  The barbarian looked over her shoulder, glance following as Zamenia walked over and retrieved the dragon carving.  Zamenia flicked her tongue against the stone, slick with the barbarian’s wetness.  “Like my work, huh?”

The barbarian nodded, eyes following as Zamenia went over to a bench and liberally poured vegetable oil over it--it would need a lot of lubrication for her plan.

Zamenia walked back over, taking a knee behind the barbarian.  She planted the broad tip of the carving against the barbarian’s soaking wet snatch, then paused, something wicked in her making her press it up slightly, against the woman’s ass.  The woman looked over her shoulder at Zamenia.  “What’s wrong, can’t you take it?”

“Izzat a challenge?” The barbarian growled, wriggling her hips a little.  She didn’t sound as tough when the tip of the dildo pushed in.  “Fuck!”

Zamenia kept up gentle teasing, slowly pushing in and out, daring the barbarian to give up, cry uncle.  She didn’t, although she did claw into the stone floor of the cave and grit her teeth and whine.  “There, don’t think I can get it any further.”

The barbarian nodded in silence.  Zamenia was studying her, shaken, stretched, perfect.  Maybe she’d carve _this_ memory of the warrior.  With that thought she drew up closer to the woman, the snakes finding her snatch again.  She didn’t thrust, insofar as the snakes crept inside while she drew close.  The woman was warm against her, and Zamenia hooked her arms around her, kissed at her back. 

The barbarian whined when the snakes struck some nerves they’d identified earlier, but was muffled when more, the thicker, longer snakes growing from her head, crept around, embracing her neck, slipping in her mouth.

Then Zamenia began thrusting.  The barbarian tried to rock with the motion, but swiftly went limp, just moaning as she was completely full.  It was amazingly intoxicating, moreso than the wine had been.  The barbarian was strong, sturdy, bigger than Zamenia in every respect.

And the sculptor had this warrior woman facedown, mewling in heat.  Fingers scraped at the stone floor while Zamenia nipped at her back with her tusks, scratched along the barbarian’s ribs with talons, tugged on the mass of thin, nonliving fur that covered the woman’s head.

When the warrior woman nearly bucked Zamenia off, screaming in pleasure, then collapsed into a panting mess, Zamenia relented.  Snakes unwound from the barbarian, squirmed back out of her body, and Zamenia pulled away. 

The barbarian rolled onto her side as the sculptor worked the dildo out of her body as well, groaning.  No sooner had she freed the stone, then a strong hand caught her wrist and pulled her down.  “You didn’t get off…”

It sounded more like an ultimatum than a question.

Zamenia’s heart was racing as the exhausted woman easily held her down, fingers trailing across her thigh, upwards.  She ran her hand against he mass of serpents, which coiled and licked at her, while she blindly groped for something.

The fingers were _hot_ when they found Zamenia’s snatch and forced their way in.  The barbarian seemed half-asleep, as she felt around, fingers thrusting in, coiling up.  She grinned when Zamenia shivered, and worked that spot over, and over.  Zamenia groaned when the hand rotated and in slid a third finger, then a fourth.  The sculptor began rocking her hips, then let out a pathetic “eep” when the barbarian withdrew.  The barbarian pitched facedown between the gorgon’s spread legs.

The woman was hot—so much warmer than the stonework, or Zamenia’s own body.  Her tongue was expert, and Zamenia would’ve moved in time but for the iron grip of the barbarina’s hands on her thighs.  Zamenia was kissed, licked and nipped.  A hand traveled up, groping one of her breasts as she felt the tongue flick against a particularly sensitive nub of flesh.  All the snakes had gone limp as the barbarian continued, and Zamenia went screaming over the edge soon after.

* * *

It was morning when Zamenia awoke, face buried against the breasts of the barbarian.  They were laying on the pile of pelts that served as her bed.  She rose and fell with the woman’s chest and as she went to extricate herself, the barbarian’s eyes fluttered open.

“Hm… we celebrated last night, right?” The barbarian called out, looking past Zamebia.

“You did.  You didn’t deign involve me.”  The sword called back, then added “This time.”

She didn’t remember last night?  Then that meant if she saw what Zamenia had… the sculptor dove off the bed, scrambling for her robes.  Was last night all due to the alcohol, what if… her thoughts were cut off by a gruff call “Hey, statue-girl!  What’re you even doing here?”

That stung.  Zamenia gulped and said in a small voice.  “I-it’s my home.”

“I know you _live here_.  I mean why do you live here?” The barbarian said, pinching the bridge of her nose.  “Like, you are a talented sculptor.  Why the Hell are you camped out on a mountain next to a village full of people who sent a sellsword to hunt you down because they had _a different_ reptile monster camping out on this mountain?”

Okay, so it wasn’t a cold rejection.  That was good.  “Um… because if I was in the village, they’d attack me.”

The barbarian looked annoyed.  “I mean, why not move to some other village.  Okay, you have snake hair… go to any big settlement and you’ll see things ten times weirder.  Hell, you could probably make a mint selling your stuff to bored rich folk.  Like that woodchuck.”

“Raccoon” Zamenia and the sword both said.

“Whatever, point stands.”

“I…” Why did she stay here?  It was because she knew so little about this land.  She assumed most places would treat her the same.  If the barbarian thought differently... "Really?"

“Look, I know a Duke, not too far away.”  The barbarian stood.  “Guy’s a dick, but likes art.  Think I could get you a job if you went for him.  Hell, a gorgon sculptor?  Asshole would love to show people a bunch of stoneworks done by a gorgon and let them just let them draw their own conclusions… his wife’d appreciate some more discrete works.”

“Well… okay.  If you think he’ll hire me…” Zamenia said, only to squeal when the barbarian lifted her up over her shoulder.  “You don’t have to carry me all the way to…”

“There’s a finder’s fee for bringing him talent.  This is a cause for celebration.”  The barbarian said, hand resting on Zamenia’s ass, giving it a gently squeeze.  “And since you drank the last of my wine, I can only think of one other way to celebrate.”

“You really do have a thing for the reptiles, don’t you?” The sword sighed.  “We could get on the road, but no, we need to burn even more time…”

Okay, so last night wasn’t just the alcohol.  There was that familiar squirming between Zamenia’s leg as the barbarian approached the shelf.  She was mildly worried, but mostly excited when her guest began hefting some of Zamenia’s larger works and growled. “’Course, this time I insist on being on top.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a fun, random pairing I wanted to try.


End file.
